


Addictions

by Ladycat



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blow Jobs, Comfort Sex, Dom/sub, M/M, Sub!Draco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-13
Updated: 2014-02-13
Packaged: 2018-01-12 06:15:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1182854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladycat/pseuds/Ladycat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fingers carded over the back of his neck, the only reward he wanted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Addictions

"On your knees, Draco."

The words drifted down from somewhere, whispers of sound with no sense of origin or focus. Any other time, any other place and he'd have looked around, trying to figure out the game, intent on playing as fast and as furiously as Harry did.

But right then, all he could do was slip to his knees, shoulders settling over his hips, head hanging down.

Fingers carded over the back of his neck, the only reward he wanted.

"You've had a tough time of it, haven't you, pet?" Harry murmured. "So busy being out there, playing all those games you love to play when you know, you _know_ , pet, that you'd rather be here, humbled and kneeling and waiting on me."

Draco squeezed his eyes, counting the red-gold flares that blinded him. Truth always unnerved him, slicing away at the underpinnings he'd held onto for so long, that he continued to hold to -- to find ripped out of hands he thought locked and secure -- long past when he thought he was done with this. But Harry was touching him, a steady warmth from crown to neck, the occasional tug of hair -- the floating images turned white-gold, then, like the first hint of snow's icy breath shivering down his spine -- back and forth, and back and forth, as steady as the metronome he'd had for piano.

He wondered if he'd ever told Harry that once upon a time, when it was fashionable, he'd played piano.

"Have you forgotten the rules already?" Harry asked, mild as dragon.

"No, Harry," he said. "I haven't forgotten, Harry."

"Then where would you rather be?" Harry was so _good_ at this, drawing up shadows like a cloak around his shoulders, dressing him in cool-edged darkness the way Draco had always wanted for himself. But it wasn't his, not at all. "Out there, pretending that you're so strong, unbreakable."

Harry let a fingernail scrape over the length of Draco's neck, feather-light but for the promise of more.

"Or would you rather be here, pet, so soft and comfortable, listening only to the sound of my voice, doing only what makes me feel good. You want to make me feel good, don't you, pet."

It wasn't a question. Draco whined, animal and instinctive, in the back of his throat, unable to tamp down the sound. "Yes, Harry," he panted. "I want to be here, Harry."

"Good boy," Harry cooed and this time, scored a thin red line.

It hurt, sparks that flared in all the right ways into Draco's stomach. He still, even now, didn't understand all of this. Any of this. But no matter how fumbling Harry was, no matter how cool and suave Draco acted when they were outside, among friends or public, it didn't _matter_. Out there was _different_ , the lie Draco had thought for so long to be truth.

But here he'd found it.

And then, abruptly, the warmth went away.

Draco didn't whine this time, too startled and upset to even vocalize. No, Harry couldn't leave. Not yet, when Draco was still _thinking_ , coherent enough to know what was bothering him, to feel cold and think _bad_ , instead of just shivering for futile warmth. Not now, when Draco was close, so close but not yet in that place where everything was good, like floating up among the clouds with all his breath still in his lungs, mind blissful blank as he followed the sound of that dark, compelling voice, the one that called him 'pet' and told him he was good, such a good boy, that it was all _okay..._

A low chuckle made Draco cringe -- and relax. Not gone, then, just not so close.

"Poor pet. You're so needy right now, aren't you, Draco? So eager to be mine."

Yes. He was.

"Come here, pet," Harry said, the thump of his hand echoing behind each word.

Draco's eyes were open but mainly so he wouldn't brain himself on the table in front of the sofa. The room was set up muggle-style, but Draco found the thick, plush carpet surprisingly comfortable as he crawled across it, the abstract patterns familiar and even pretty as he climbed up onto the sofa, curling up as much as his narrow framed allowed, cuddling into Harry's chest and lap with an eager little whine.

Harry laughed, but it wasn't cruel. He could do cruel, of course -- far more than Draco's more meager attempts. It'd taken Draco a long time, but now, when he was curled up against Harry, with Harry's hand stroking up and down his arm, glancing over his chest, his crotch -- legs helpfully scissored, just as Harry preferred -- the swell of his ass, Draco had finally figured out why.

Draco _cared_. He _wanted_ , whatever it was -- attention, respect, the list was a long, curled parchment of Draco's desires.

Harry didn't. Oh, there were things he wanted, things he grew angry and frustrated over, passion beating blood-red behind green eyes. But not here, like this. Harry didn't want, Harry _had_. As surely as he could control his own arm, Draco was an extension, a pet, a toy Harry delighted in playing, a -- 

Draco jerked into a breath, air cold and crisp against his throat, as he waited for Harry to release his cock. The rush of blood flowing back into it afterward was exquisite.

"I believe someone's not paying attention. Who are you supposed to pay attention to, pet?"

"You, Harry," Draco breathed, the only prayer he'd ever need utter.

"Arch your arse, then, like a good pet."

Whimpering soft, Draco arched and contorted like the well-trained pet he was, sighing with pleasure as he finally reached his most frequent position. Harry loved to play with things, to touch them, and tease them.

Which worked out rather well since Draco loved to be played _with_.

That's what he was, really, and had been for all his life. But where his father had positioned him like a chess piece, continually disappointed that he remained a luckless pawn, swept off the board again and again, Harry played with _him_. There was no other game, no black-and-white expanse to navigate. There was just Harry, touching Draco's skin, feeling the curves and the bony-places with equal enjoyment, pushing up his robes -- "Lean up, pet, I want you naked," -- so he could pull over Draco's cock, palm his arse and let thick fingers press into Draco's hottest, softest places.

"There's a good pet," Harry murmured, the words a gentle rain, cool and noticeable without demanding anything but a curl of pleasure. "That's it, good boy, let me play with you, your pretty arse and cunt. You're so greedy there, pet, soft and slick just as you should be." Fingers slid into him again, two, warm and comforting until Draco sighed with pleasure, puddled over Harry's lap. "I love to think of you sneaking away from your duties, all those grasping hands and badgering questions, finding a quiet moment when you can press your own fingers, so heavy with slick, up inside of you until you're ready again, always ready for whatever I might want of you. Isn't that right, pet, hm? Whatever I might want."

Draco hummed, too languid to really moan. "Yes, Harry," he whispered. "Anything, Harry. Always ready."

He was, too, even if he had to sneak off two or three times a day to reapply. He'd learned to love the feeling of slickness along his arse, as slippery as the words he poured out daily to everyone not Harry.

"You were brilliant at that press conference today, Draco," Harry said, and that was wrong, the words weren't supposed to have admiration like that, affection and respect like rays of sunshine sneaking beneath heavy clouds. "Hermione said she didn't know how you did it. Even _Ron_ was impressed, and you know what he says about your mouth."

Draco knew, but he knew what Harry said, too, and those words were better. He whined, thin and upset, rocking his arse back onto Harry's fingers because this, this was what he wanted -- Harry, and Harry's touch, and Harry letting him soothe away all the stresses from the job he loved, the life he'd built up like shining rocks on a waterless beach.

Harry chuckled, rubbing his thumb at the top of Draco's arse, where crease met vertebrae. "Shh, greedy. You really are greedy, and needy about so much. It's a good think I like that about my toys." Opening his legs, Harry's robes wordlessly furled north, exposing him to Draco's hot breath. "Here's a better use for your mouth, pet."

This time Draco did moan, happy and eager as he slid around Harry's cock, shoulder's hunching so Harry's fingers wouldn't be dislodged. This was one of his favorite things, Harry filling him up, consuming him until Draco was nothing but a pretty arse to be fondled, a body to be touched, a mouth to fuck or kiss or nip. He moaned, couldn't help it, weak and shivery and _happy_ as he gave himself over to the cock in his mouth, the fingers in his arse, and the body that held his up, stronger than anything Draco had ever known, and still warm, still full of _life_.

Draco was addicted to it, he knew.

He didn't mind, though, because Harry had his own addiction.

"God, yes," Harry hissed, thrusting into his mouth even as he latched onto Draco's fine, white fall of hair, tugging it back just a little too hard. "That's it, pet, be good boy, be _Draco._ Suck me off so sweet... "

And Draco did, humming happily, because this, this was more important than all the words Draco might say, all the things he did outside of their home. 

Right here, curled up and petted and used in the best of ways: that was _Draco._


End file.
